


happy anniversary dipshit

by djhedy



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, POV Ronan Lynch, Post-Canon, Ronan Lynch Has Feelings, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish Fluff, So does Adam, Spoilers, but ronan is real bad at it, but we love him anyway, it gets all proposally, my heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 04:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djhedy/pseuds/djhedy
Summary: Before Ronan’s birthday party; before the world turned sideways and threatened to tilt Ronan and everyone he loved off the face of the earth; long before he had Adam to hold him in place; before the demon and before Cabeswater and even before Blue; someone had called Ronan and Adam an ‘old married couple’.---It's been three weeks, or two years. And Ronan knows what he wants, has always known how to throw his body head-first into things, but doesn't know how to say it.





	happy anniversary dipshit

**Author's Note:**

> gosh this was supposed to be way shorter, but ronan is just so bad at communicating that it took longer than expected. hope you like xxx

Before Ronan’s birthday party; before the world turned sideways and threatened to tilt Ronan and everyone he loved off the face of the earth; long before he had Adam to hold him in place; before the demon and before Cabeswater and even before Blue; someone had called Ronan and Adam an ‘old married couple’.

             Gansey had only been friends with Adam a couple of months, and Ronan wasn’t yet. At the beginning it was wary glances and hot snapping words; but those were only on the days when Ronan managed to get out of bed, managed to get into the car, was managed into going to school. On other days, Adam wasn’t even worth an acknowledgement. On those days, it was all Ronan could do to drag his feet next to Gansey’s, counting steps like Gansey had suggested, feeling sarcastic remarks rise and fall in his dulled mind.

             On those days, Adam was just the guy the other side of Gansey.

             After the night-horror attack things slowly started to get better. Not that Ronan could have known that then; there was still the burn of late night racing and the buzz of alcohol and he still had to battle the night-horrors night after night – promising Gansey _it wouldn’t happen again_ , as if either of them were capable of acknowledging what _it_ was, wasn’t enough to stop the demons in Ronan’s head. But there were days when sunlight poked through the clouds in the sky and through the fog in Ronan’s head. Days where racing felt more like chasing happiness and less like chasing death.

             On one of these days, Ronan and Adam were fighting, which was new, too.

             When Gansey had first introduced Ronan to Adam, with a casual, “Lynch! This is Adam Parrish. He’s in our Latin class. He saved the Pig he’s practically a hero,” Adam had looked at Ronan, barely even a smile on his face, a nervous nod of the head. Adam had been smaller back then.

             Ronan had raised an eyebrow at Gansey and walked off.

             The second time Gansey had introduced Ronan to Adam – an hour later, slamming Lynch into his regular seat at lunch after he’d tried to walk off, gesturing enthusiastically at Adam to join them, with a slightly more tired, “Parrish is probably better at Latin than even you, Lynch,” Ronan had rolled his eyes. But he’d stayed in his seat throughout lunch, glaring at his food, then at Gansey, then at anyone except Adam.

             The third time was the next day, after a short argument on the ride to school had resulted in Gansey explaining to Ronan in terms he said “a child would understand”: “you don’t have to like him, but he’s staying.” They’d walked up to where Adam was locking his bike, and Ronan had finally looked Adam in the eye – and smirked. Adam had looked surprised at even the hostile acknowledgement of his presence, but then Gansey had drawn them both into a conversation about Whelk’s humiliating battle with the projector screen the day before, and that had been that.

             The fighting came later, after suspicion and jealousy had burned down to a few simmering coals lining the pit of his stomach and all that had been left was some disquiet that Ronan couldn’t name. Adam bugged him, that was all.

             They’d been walking between classes, and Ronan was bored. He’d woken up restless and angry, exhausted after dreaming of his father, and Gansey had to bribe him into the Pig with promises he didn’t care about. It was never really about what Gansey promised – _we’ll get gelato; tomorrow the sun will come out; this weekend we’ll go for a drive; I won’t make you speak to Declan_ – but that he bothered to promise anything at all. That Gansey kept reaching out to haul Ronan up, again and again.

             He was bored, so he picked a fight with Adam.

             “How can you _say that_?” Ronan demanded, letting his bag fall from his shoulder to his hand, and hoisting it back up.

             Adam sighed. “How can I say what?” he asked patiently.

             “I think Lynch is insulted that you haven’t seen _Armageddon_ ,” Gansey said, a small frown on his face fighting a smirk – the expression that sat somewhere between _should I stop this from happening_ and _I am going to let this happen_.

             “How can you be insulted I haven’t seen a movie?”

             “Because it’s disgusting.”

             “I’m sorry that you’re offended I spend more time studying than I do watching movies.”

             Ronan rolled his eyes. “I’m _offended_ you have no fucking taste, Parrish. Assuming you have _seen_ movies _._ ” When Adam didn’t respond immediately, he waited.

             Adam huffed, frustrated. “Yes, of course, but ages ago, when I was little. Probably before that movie even came out.”

             “ _Armageddon_ ,” Ronan repeated. “It’s fucking brilliant and you should be apologising.”

             “To _who?”_

“Bruce Willis.”

             Adam had looked at Gansey then, and perhaps Gansey would have responded more sympathetically to the desperate look in his eyes if he hadn’t been half-way through suppressing a laugh.

             Ronan stopped in his tracks. “ _Parrish._ Tell me you know who Bruce Willis is.”

             And then Adam lost it. “No I don’t know who that is, does it matter?”

             “But you’ve seen _Die Hard_ ,” Ronan said, like it wasn’t even a question. Adam rolled his eyes and Ronan stormed past him into the classroom, knocking him into the doorframe before collapsing dramatically into his chair.

             “Nice,” Adam said to him, rubbing his arm and sitting down more delicately. “You learn those manners from Bruce Wills?”

             “ _Willis_ ,” Ronan said through clenched teeth. “You know if you spent less time memorising US presidents and more time on the important things –”

             “I’m sorry that some of us value our education over movies that explode.”

             “The movies don’t explode _Christ Parrish_ it’s the fucking _meteor_ that explodes.”

             A laugh had drawn both of their attentions away from glaring at each other to glaring at a guy a row in front of them. Ronan thought his name was probably Marshall, but had never cared to use it. Marshall grinned. “You guys are hilarious,” he said. “You boning?”

             Everything drained of colour. The light in the room; the thoughts in his head. Ronan counted steps. The amount of steps it would take to drag Marshall’s body to the line of trees at the edge of the sports field where no one would find him –

             Gansey placed a hand on Ronan’s arm and smiled, businesslike, at Marshall. “That’s a rude question,” he’d remarked, all casual.

             “Fuck off,” Ronan snapped, clarifying.

             Adam had just ducked his head down, scribbling on his notepad, red heat bursting above his collar.

             Marshall snorted. “You might as well be, you’re practically an old married couple. Fags.” And then he’d turned back round, and Gansey’s fingers had dug harder into Ronan’s arm, and didn’t leave it for the rest of class.

             Which isn’t to say Ronan and Marshall hadn’t _discussed the matter further_ after Gansey had left school, but if he’d noticed the bruises on their faces the next day he hadn’t mentioned it.

             Ronan didn’t bring up _Armageddon_ again, and it was a fortnight before he was brave enough to fight with Adam again.

 

*

 

It was early November and they’d been… whatever, now, for all of three weeks. Three weeks of Ronan picking Adam up after school, driving him to work, driving them to the Barns, driving fast enough they couldn’t hear their yells over the sound of the engine, stopping abruptly in abandoned fields and car parks and staying there long after it got dark.

             It wasn’t all good.

             Some of it was huddling in Monmouth with Blue and Gansey, Adam rubbing his fingers over Ronan’s knuckles as they remembered Noah; some of it was the same old story, pouring over textbooks and in and out of libraries and fields and old buildings as Gansey insisted they had to wrap up Glendower, Cabeswater, the demon; some of it was enduring long phone calls with Declan and Adam holding his hand while he tried to sort through his mother’s things; some of it was going to Fox Way to sit with Blue in the garden and listen while she talked about Persephone and her father. Ronan was getting better at listening. Afterwards, he would knock shoulders with her, say something to make her laugh, and leave. But he was getting better at it.

             Three weeks of kissing Adam sometimes felt like all he needed to rebuild.

 

Adam climbed into the BMW, rubbing his hands together and bringing them to his mouth. He twisted sideways in the seat to look at Ronan. “Barns?”

             Ronan nodded, shifted into gear. “Orphan Girl’s been on at me to see you.”

             Ronan could see Adam smile out the corner of his eye. “I was there two days ago.”

“Any evening I have to battle with that asshole to eat anything that isn’t made of _trees_ is an evening we both miss you, Parrish.” Ronan squirmed slightly in his seat; he’d meant that as a joke, he didn’t want Adam thinking he’d really become so clingy so quickly.

             Even if he had.

             Adam just said, “You can’t call her asshole.”

             “I can’t keep calling her Orphan Girl either,” Ronan said, and he didn’t say that he was an orphan now too and that calling her that every time made him want to break things.

Adam went quiet, tapping his finger against his knee, looking out the window. “We’ll think of something better,” he said.

The word _we_ bounced around in Ronan’s head for the rest of the drive. He pulled into the Barns and up the dirt road that led to the house.

             _Three weeks_ , he reminded himself. It felt like years.

             He turned to Adam. Wondered when it was reasonable to bring it up. Adam, who had one hand on the door, ready to leave, turned back. “What?”

             Ronan chewed his lip. Got out the car. “Nothing.”

             He didn’t say anything until later, when they’d wrestled actual real food into Opal and left her to run herself to exhaustion outside – Ronan insisted _she’s not a kid and she’s certainly not my fucking kid she can go to sleep whenever she wants_ , and Adam, ever the scientist, _if she dies out there you’ll be sad_ , and Ronan rolled his eyes but started keeping an eye on the time all the same.

             Adam was leaning against a counter in the kitchen, drying plates lazily, as Ronan thumbed through his phone to find music Adam might not hate. He’d started trying to do that more. He didn’t really know anything except EDM, but he had started making a playlist of what he thought of as maybe less offensive tracks, anything he’d noticed Adam tapping his leg to in the car, anything he’d noticed had made him smile, or mouth along words, or look at Ronan with heat in his eyes. Ronan started the playlist and put his phone down.

             He knew Adam had been waiting for him to talk. This was something Adam had started doing more. It had only been three weeks, but it had also been two years, and Adam had always known that sometimes Ronan needed time to find the right words. Ronan rushed into anything he could do with his _body_ : he hurled himself into cars, into buildings, into trolley carts, into Adam. But he still hated tripping over words that didn’t fit in his mouth.

             “So Parrish,” said Ronan, still not fully decided between _casual_ or _brutally sarcastic._

             “Yes?” Adam replied, putting the last dish away and hanging up the towel. He folded his arms across his chest.

             It suddenly occurred to Ronan that Adam might be nervous. He’d known Ronan had been trying to say something all evening, had been waiting patiently for it. Might have been wondering what was coming.

             Ronan walked forward and hooked his thumbs into Adam’s belt loops. He didn’t press forward, he just smiled. The awful hot feeling of intense vulnerability was made worth it when Adam smiled back. “I just wanted to talk,” said Ronan, mouth dry and licking his lips like it would help.

             “Sure,” Adam said, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Want me to pick a topic, or…”

             “Give me a fucking second,” Ronan said, and Adam grinned, and then mimed zipping his mouth shut, and Ronan breathed in, and looked out the window behind Adam’s head, and said, “Look is this – I get that we’re here and – this is probably dumb but –”

             Adam waited a second, but when he realised nothing else was forthcoming he lifted a hand and placed it on Ronan’s jaw, bringing his face back so that he could look him in the eye. He looked equal parts amused and worried. “Lynch, what –”

             “I just… wondered what I should call you.” It was the closest Ronan felt he could get to the truth, to the words circling out of reach.

             At that Adam’s eyes softened, but if anything his smirk hardened. “Besides Parrish, you mean.”

             “Besides that,” Ronan agreed.

             Adam pretended to consider for a second, running his hand lightly down Ronan’s neck and dusting gently across his collarbone. “Well I suppose if anyone asks, and _go away please it’s none of your business_ doesn’t work – boyfriend?”

             Ronan tried not to smile, he really did. “Not a bad back up plan,” he said, “though I think I can do much fucking better than _go away please it’s none of your business_.”

             Adam nodded, smiling brightly now, his eyes burning into Ronan’s, “I think you can too.”

 

*

 

Christmas was a whole new set of pains, ones Ronan almost didn’t think he could bear. Tiny Henrietta and non-existent Singer’s Falls did their best to protect them from the oversaturation of the commercial holiday fever, but everywhere Ronan looked was Christmas trees and candy canes and deals and smiling families advertising crap no one wanted.

             On the last day of school Ronan dropped Adam home early and raced away from Henrietta, away from light and people and noise, and sped through the George Washington and Jefferson Forest, racing up and down mountain paths until he couldn’t hear his thoughts anymore.

             When he got back it was to birds calling out to morning sunlight, and Ronan knocking gently on Adam’s door, body almost shaking from grief and exhaustion, and a quiet Adam opening the door in a t-shirt, guiding a frozen Ronan to his bed silently, knocking their foreheads together under the covers.

             Ronan woke to something tickling his face. When he opened his eyes Adam’s finger was gently working its way across Ronan’s forehead. Ronan scooted backwards an inch and raised an eyebrow.

             Adam smirked, shy. “You were frowning,” he said, “in your sleep. I was making it go away.”

             Ronan’s breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his mouth and then he was giving all his breath to Adam, murmuring it gently across his lips, making Adam shiver with it, swallowing down words he knew it was too fucking early to say.

             Two months. It felt like years.

             When they finally broke apart, Ronan’s hands stilling on Adam’s hips and Adam’s fingers still rubbing up and down Ronan’s shoulder, Ronan said, “So. Fucking Christmas.”

             Adam sighed. “It’s unfortunate, but there’s not a lot we can do about it.”

             “We can leave,” Ronan suggested. “We can get in the car and drive til we join 66 and not stop until we’ve missed the whole fucking thing.”

             “We could,” Adam said, “if money grew on trees and everyone we knew was that forgiving.”

             Ronan sighed. “Ok, but you’re spending Christmas day at mine.”

             “Am I?” Adam said, sitting back slightly, amusement on his face. Adam Parrish was his own man, and it was only knowing that with absolute certainty, and proving time and time again that he knew that with absolute certainty, that meant Ronan got away with being so officious.

             “Come on Parrish don’t tell me you’re going to D.C.” Gansey had invited them, had invited all of them, but Blue had her own family at Fox Way and it had been early enough in December that silence from Adam and a glare from Ronan had shut Gansey up.

             “No,” Adam agreed, “I’m not. I told Gansey I didn’t want to impose.”

             “I bet that went down well.”

             “Yeah, he’s probably already told them I’m coming,” Adam said, sighing.

             “Come to the Barns.”

             Adam was silent then. He leant back with his whole body, rolling onto his back and resting his head on one arm. Ronan let one of his hands reach across Adam’s chest, resting there idly. _You can have this_ , he thought, _you don’t have to be weird about it._

             Eventually, Adam said, “Will Declan mind?”

             Ronan grinned. “Fuck Declan,” he suggested.

             “Come on Lynch that’s not fair, I don’t want to spend the day between the two of you. Does he even know about us?” he asked, looking at Ronan then, concern in his face.

             Ronan peeled away. “Matthew’s probably told him.”

             “You don’t _know_?”

             Ronan shrugged. “I didn’t tell him, and he hasn’t brought it up. But Matthew’s probably told him.” Adam looked away again, so Ronan glanced at him. Waited. Sighed. “Look I’ll… I’ll fucking talk to him alright, I’ll make sure he’s ok with it. With you coming,” he clarified quickly. He didn’t need to say _we’ve never talked about that before_ , because he figured Adam knew that. He also figured Declan knew, but it wasn’t any of Declan’s business. Or it never had been before Adam.

             Adam looked at him, and smiled. “Ok,” he said, and kissed Ronan once, gently. “Fine,” he said, kissing him again. “You’ve worn me down,” he added, leaning up and over Ronan’s body, pushing him against the mattress and sinking into him.

 

Ronan had tried calling Declan, really he had. He’d picked up his phone a few times, playing with it in his fingers. On the 20th of December he threw it at Gansey, shouting _think fast nerd_ , watching Gansey catch it with deft fingers, a challenge in his stance, and then Ronan had scoffed and walked away.

             On the 21st he panicked and called Matthew instead. “Ronan!” Matthew greeted him cheerily.

             “Hey,” Ronan said, half his usual gruff. “You still coming down on the 24th?”

             “Yep,” said Matthew. “Declan too.”

             Ronan nodded into the phone. “Ok,” and hung up.

             On the 22nd Adam rolled his eyes hard in the direction of both Ronan and the phone. The four of them were sat in Blue’s living room, some sort of _christmas magic witchy bullshit drink_ was being passed around and Ronan had already said _not a chance in hell_ twice, twirling his phone between his fingers. When eye rolling didn’t work Adam shoved a hand into Ronan’s shoulder and said, “Get it over with, coward,” and smiled at him, and Ronan wasn’t sure whether it was the _coward_ or the smile that made him stand up and walk to the kitchen.

             He put his phone to his ear and waited.

             “Ronan?” Declan sounded as though he was trying not to sound as surprised as he was. “Is everything ok?”

             “Yes –” Ronan nearly snapped _Yes, Dad,_ but caught himself, and cleared his throat instead. “Yeah.”

             A few seconds passed in painful silence as Ronan tried to organise his thoughts. Declan broke the silence first, said, “We’re coming down there in two days,” as if trying to answer a question Ronan hadn’t asked.

             “I know,” Ronan said. “I’m dating Adam and he wants to come for Christmas.” He let the words drop against his phone, imagined the screen cracking beneath its weight.

             Declan, to his credit, spoke loudly back with no more than an “ _Oh_ ,” and then, hurriedly, “Ok. That’s – sure. That’s fine, Ronan.”

             Ronan hung up.

 

Christmas morning was waking up with Adam’s body tucked neatly against his. For whole minutes Ronan lived in the world where this was like all his mornings now: he got to have this. As he awoke his hands squeezed against Adam’s hips, turning a mumbling Adam round in his arms, gathering him close and kissing him awake. He felt Adam smile against him. “Hi,” he said.

             “Hi,” Ronan said.

             “Merry Christmas,” Adam said.

             And everything drained of colour. Adam knew he’d said the wrong thing instantly, his own demons playing against his face as they looked at each other. Ronan sighed and said, “Ok, let’s get this fucking over with.”

             Adam had arrived late last night, Shitbox wheezing into the drive after the Lynches had already made their way to bed, Ronan treading quietly downstairs to greet an exhausted Adam at the door, prodding him upstairs and peeling him out of his work clothes, his lips against Adam’s neck and a hand over his mouth.

             “Time to meet the family,” Adam said brightly as they got dressed. Ronan threw a sock at him.

             Downstairs Declan and Matthew were in the kitchen, arguing about what to have for breakfast. It sounded cheerful, until it wasn’t. “I don’t have anything for pancakes,” Declan was saying, like Matthew was just being bratty.

             “I don’t care what we have on them,” Matthew said, a slight whine to his voice.

             “I’m not saying we’re out of maple syrup, we’re out of milk,” said Declan, and Ronan forced the irritation that hit his body at Declan saying ‘ _we_ ’ to skate over him. He’d promised Adam.

             “But we always have pancakes.”

             “Matthew, seriously –”

             “It’s what mom always makes.”

             Ronan came to a stop outside the kitchen, Adam halting gently beside him. It’s not that Ronan had forgotten, it’s just that he hadn’t let himself think of it at all. Of Christmas traditions, of what say Aurora and Niall had once had in their lives, because they were fucking gone and it was fucking pointless.

             Ronan’s hands drew into fists at his sides.

             Adam touched a hand lightly to his shoulder, then walked into the kitchen. “Good morning,” he said to a slumped Declan and a fidgeting Matthew. Both brothers looked up then, Matthew genuine joy in his face and Declan straightening his frame out. They greeted one another while Ronan stood frozen in the doorway, and then without discussion Adam started rooting through the fridge, bringing out bacon and eggs and butter and cheese, passing things to Matthew while asking him about school, showing Declan where they’d moved the pans to. The familiarity with which he moved around the kitchen made Ronan feel settled. He felt his fists unclench, and stepped forwards.

 

Ronan had suggested they didn’t exchange presents this year, but felt his text stating _fuck capitalism_ hadn’t quite made it through everyone’s heads as he found himself sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, an excitable Opal running through the living room, snapping her teeth into the air, Chainsaw perched warily on a high beam, Declan on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other, Matthew bouncing at the other end, Adam knee to knee with Ronan on the floor.

             At least Ronan could be in charge of the music. He got his phone out his pocket and opened the music app, but then Adam was taking it from him. “No,” he said sternly. “It’s morning, it’s Christmas, nothing that will make our ears bleed.”

            Ronan scowled. “Asshole.”

            Adam smirked. “Bleeding ears can resume tomorrow,” he said, kissing him quickly on the cheek then staring at the phone in his lap, ignoring Declan’s gaze. He put on some sort of indistinguishable indie acoustic folk bore that Ronan had to admit was at least better than Christmas music, and everyone passed around presents.

            After books and scarves and a chew-toy for Opal – _seriously Declan? She’s not a fucking animal – maybe the chew-toy will prevent her eating your house, you ungrateful_ – and mac and cheese, and garlic bread, and ice cream, and after a silent walk outside, Adam and Ronan hand in hand, Declan pensive and striding ahead, Matthew stopping every now and then to touch at branches, barn doors, hurrying to catch up, Adam suggested a movie.

            “Sure,” said Matthew, “sounds great. Can we watch –”

            “No,” said Declan and Ronan in unison, and Adam laughed.

            “No sappy movies,” Ronan said. Declan nodded, curtly, going back to the book in his lap.

            Adam was stood at the bookcase, looking through the Lynches’ old collection of dvds, when he stopped, a smirk on his face.

            “What?” said Ronan, ever attune to Adam, as Matthew was flicking through channels and growing increasingly despairing at Declan shooting down every suggestion of his that had the word _christmas_ in the title.

            Adam turned to face Ronan, smile gone, cocking his head as if in serious contemplation. “How about _Armageddon_?”

            “Oh that’s a _great_ film,” said Matthew, leaping up, ignoring the way Ronan had stilled, rushing over to Adam and grabbing the dvd.

            Declan shut his book. “Haven’t you seen that a thousand times?” he asked, but putting his book down on the coffee table was acquiescence.

            “Yes,” Matthew said, and Ronan still hadn’t managed words, still hadn’t looked away from Adam’s amused expression, “We used to watch it and Ronan would play drilling with me.”

            That broke the moment, and everyone looked at Matthew. “Would he now,” said Adam, grinning.

            Ronan rolled his eyes. “Christ Parrish don’t look so excited, Matthew would pretend we were drillers, and we’d find things in the garden that we had to stop from crashing into the planet.”

            Matthew flopped onto the floor next to Ronan to put the dvd in and leaned into his shoulder. “You’re just mad because you don’t want Adam to know how much fun you can be,” and there were a thousand things in that sentence that made Ronan blush and Adam laugh and for once Declan was quiet, and then they all moved around to get comfortable.

            Ronan and Adam ended up on the sofa, an inch apart, Chainsaw on the arm worrying at a loose thread; Declan on a chair and Matthew and Opal on the floor.

            Early on Ronan started explaining part of the movie to Adam and Matthew whipped his head around, incensed, “ _What?_ ” he asked. “Adam, haven’t you seen this before?” And when Adam shook his head apologetically, Matthew turned the volume up, serious expression on his face, scooting to the side to give Adam a full view, occasionally turning round to watch Adam’s face when it got to the good bits.

            Ronan spent half the time watching the movie, and half the time watching Matthew watch Adam, scowling at his younger brother, pretending he wasn’t curious about Adam’s reactions as well; not just to the movie, but to all of it. Everything. Wondering if it wasn’t all too much.

            When it was over Declan stood up, stretching, lifting a dozing Matthew to his feet and Opal into his arms, carrying the younger half of the family up the stairs, ignoring Ronan’s curious look.

            Adam stretched as well, leaning back into the sofa. “So that was your _favourite_ movie, Lynch.”

            Ronan looked at Adam. Warred between _casual_ and _brutally sarcastic._ “I can’t believe you remembered that,” he said, neither winning out for once.

            “Don’t get all sappy,” Adam admonished, but he slipped his fingers into Ronan’s. “I still haven’t seen _Die Hard_.”

             Adam shifted so that his body was closer to Ronan’s, shoulders aligned, Ronan’s chest leaning slightly inwards. “Well there’s loads of those,” Ronan said quietly. “Don’t want to eat into homework time.”

             “We have time,” said Adam, shrugging, but his eyes were anything but casual.

             Everything was _alive._

             “Wait, I haven’t given you your Christmas present,” Adam said, standing all of a sudden and leaving the room.

             Ronan rolled his head back into the sofa, called out of the room, “ _Asshole_.”

             When Adam returned, square box in his hand, grinning, he said, “Only assholes don’t buy their boyfriends Christmas presents.”

             Ronan accepted the gift, grumbled, “Even when they fucking agreed not to.”

             “Even then,” Adam said. Ronan kissed him, reluctantly, then looked down at the box. It wasn’t wrapped, it was black and small and he didn’t want to open it. Knew he was being stupid. Didn’t know what it meant that Adam had got him something when they’d decided not to.

             He opened the box.

             Inside was a small leather band. It wasn’t brown or black like the ones already on Ronan’s wrist, but a grey blue, almost the colour of faded denim. Somehow it was the same thickness as some of the existing ones, and tied together with a similar knot. He stared at it for a second longer and then screwed up his fist, slipped it on, looked at how it settled against his wrist, almost darting in and out of the others, the same, but different.

             He looked at Adam, who was waiting for a reaction, fingers playing at the ends of his sleeve. “Where did you get it?” Ronan asked. He wanted to ask _why do I get this._

             “Thrift store,” Adam said proudly, and launched into a story about how a few weeks ago he and Gansey had been driving aimlessly on a nothing Sunday when they’d found an open thrift store they didn’t recognise, and how Adam had been pouring through the boxes of dollar items when he’d found the blue band. “Do you like it?” he asked, when he finished, uncertain. “I wasn’t sure. It’s um, it’s not the right colour –”

             “It’s the right colour,” said Ronan, cutting him off, one hand fisting in Adam’s sweater, the other coming up to cup his face. He kissed _faded denim_ and _it’s right_ and _I get this_ into Adam’s mouth, felt his stomach tighten over and over again as Adam relaxed and then tensed beneath him, as Ronan’s hands moved further over Adam’s body. He felt Adam’s relief melt into him as he pushed him backwards, bodies leaning against each other, kissed Adam into the sofa. Didn’t say _today has been perfect_ , didn’t ask _how did you do it_ , or _how did you bring us together_ , or _how did you make it ok_ , or _why do I get this._

             Eventually Adam smiled into Ronan’s lips and asked, “Well? Where’s my fucking present?”

             “Marry me,” Ronan whispered.

             Ronan didn’t open his eyes, knew Adam didn’t open his either. Kept kissing him softly, although Adam’s lips had stilled. Adam let out a breath that could have been a laugh. He pulled away to whisper, “Very funny Lynch, but that would really be more of a present for you.”

             Ronan pinched him in the side and Adam flinched. Kept kissing him. Could feel Adam uncertain and soft beneath him. Adam moved his lips away and kissed Ronan’s jaw, his cheek, his ear, before moving back to his mouth. “Besides,” he said, clearing his throat, moving one hand to the back of Ronan’s neck, “you haven’t even clarified the depths of your feelings for me yet, what kind of a gentleman are you?”

             “I love you.” Ronan breathed the words into Adam. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, like if he didn’t he could keep pretending this was all a dream, that he got to have this and didn’t have to question it, could say things to Adam he said at night, when Adam was asleep and Ronan matched their breathing, when he closed his eyes and dreamt, where no one could say he didn’t get to have this.

             Adam pulled back, both hands on Ronan, and Ronan ducked his head. Didn’t want to open his eyes. Didn’t want to see –

             “Ronan.” He lifted his head and opened his eyes. Adam was staring at him with something like _knowledge_ , something like _awe_. Adam said, “I love you.” And Ronan gulped, nodded, something like relief tearing through him, and they didn’t kiss, instead his head fell forward to Adam’s shoulder, and Adam’s arms came around him, and held him through his racing heartbeat, one hand scratching gently through Ronan’s buzzcut, Ronan’s hands gripping Adam’s waist.

             They stayed there for a long time. Eventually, they moved upstairs.

             Ronan didn’t give Adam anything for Christmas.

 

*

 

Every other day for the next month, Ronan would be walking through his bedroom – getting dressed or undressed, or going to bed or looking for something specific – something that wasn’t in the bottom drawer – and he’d open it anyway. Look inside. Close it again.

 

*

 

It was April. Ronan hadn’t forgotten, hadn’t changed his mind. Felt uncertainty claw up his spine, battle briefly with something like _knowledge_ , something like _awe_. Counted steps in his mind, counted _one, two, three, four, five, six months now. Six months. Two and a half years._

             Ronan wondered if they were above anniversaries. Embarrassing Christmases aside, he and Adam mostly managed to avoid sappiness. It was usually only when Adam was tired, or Ronan was sad, one or the other curled smaller than usual in bed, or taking longer than usual to get out of bed, that _I love you_ s sounded more like _don’t go_ , more like _I get to have this._

             But sappiness aside, Ronan had never been in a relationship before. He didn’t often want what everyone else wanted, couldn’t stand doing anything just because it was expected or unspoken. He didn’t think Adam had done this before either – not this thing they were doing, not _don’t go_ and _I get to have this._

             Ronan brought it up with Gansey. Partly because he didn’t care what Gansey thought of him, not really, not anymore, not when it came to this – and partly to see the expression he was giving him right now.

             “Seriously?” Gansey asked, mouth still wrapped around the straw in his iced coffee. “You want to celebrate your six month anniversary?”

             Ronan shrugged from the passenger seat. “Don’t get excited. I didn’t say _want to,_ I said I was thinking about it. And don’t,” he added, cutting across Gansey’s interjection, “get started on the etymology of anniversary, I fucking _know_.”

             Gansey nodded, fuel all taken out from him. He slurped at his coffee some more, considering. They were parked at a viewpoint, looking across the valley, watching as spots of winter turned into spring, brown trees battling against green. “Well, does Adam want to do anything?” Ronan shrugged. Gansey sighed. “And I suppose suggesting that you _ask him_ would be too easy.” Ronan didn’t say anything. Gansey sighed again. “Why can’t you just take him out for dinner?”

             Ronan scowled. “Because we’ve never been out for dinner, Christ that sounds boring.”

             “We go out for dinner all the time!”

             “No, we go out for _pizza_ all the time, we go out for – for – for fucking _gelato_ –”

             “Ok ok I get it.” Gansey considered. “So does it have to be the _thing_ that matters?” Ronan looked at him. “Maybe it can just be the intent. You know, maybe you can just make him dinner, but make him his favourite food, play his favourite music. Maybe it doesn’t have to be what everyone else would do.” Gansey shrugged, but Ronan looked out the window, considering. “It’ll be special because of the intent.”

             “ _Show me where the Raven King is_ ,” Ronan drawled low, intending it to sound mocking, but Gansey merely nodded, as if to say _yes, precisely_ , as if it was that simple. “Maybe I’ll ask him to marry me.”

             Gansey paused, and then laughed, once, sharp. Ronan looked at him. “Yes Lynch,” he said, smiling brightly around his straw, shaking his head. “That’s exactly what I meant.”

 

In the end, Ronan did almost exactly what Gansey suggested. He texted Adam during class, when Adam would be frowning at his desk, furiously memorising practise tests, and imagined the surprise on his face when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

               _happy anniversary dipshit_

Got a reply back, seconds later. _Seriously Lynch? Are we those people?_

And then another one, _Happy anniversary._

And, when Ronan hadn’t said anything else:

_Are we doing something nice?_

_Is this you doing something nice?_

_Is you saying ‘happy anniversary’ my anniversary present?_

_L y n c h_

 

After school Ronan was waiting by the BMW, leaning against it, eyes sifting through the outpouring of Aglionby students onto the grounds. And then Adam was walking through it, walking towards him, through that familiar clench in his stomach, and then Adam was kissing him. “Fucking softie,” Adam murmured.

             “It’s all Gansey’s fault,” Ronan said, opening the passenger door with raised eyebrows at Adam as the other boy got in, hesitant and suspicious. “He said I had to do something nice for you or he’d break my legs.”

             “Yes,” said Adam, as Ronan got in the driver’s side, “that sounds like Gansey.”

             In the end, he took them to the Barns, because that was what he was offering.

             And he made Adam his favourite food – _wow you’ve really gone all out, mac and cheese and nachos_ _I think several gods are rolling in their graves right now – don’t be so blasphemous, jesus –_ because that was what he was offering.

             And he walked them through the Barns, sometimes carrying Opal, sometimes letting her run ahead of them, chasing Chainsaw who was flying teasingly out of reach, sometimes holding Adam’s hand, sometimes stopping to run a hand along a fence, or pet the deer, or reach out to bring Adam in for a kiss, because this was what he was offering.

             And later, inside, he took Adam upstairs, and ignored the look of surprise from Adam when he passed the door to his room, paused instead outside his parents’ room. Put a hand on the door and stopped. Could feel everything in the touch Adam put on his arm: _oh,_ and _I’m here_ , and _are you sure..._

             But Ronan had spent all weekend on this, while Adam had been studying for exams. And Gansey and Blue had helped, and something about Gansey’s confident tone and Blue’s brusque efficiency had made breathing easier. Even when he’d had to sit on the floor, sip quietly at a beer he knew Gansey disapproved of, had just watched as Blue changed bedsheets and boxed up clothes, as Gansey removed lamps and rugs and came back hours later with new ones.

             Ronan opened the door and walked through with Adam.

             They looked around together, holding hands, because this was what he was offering.

             It wasn’t much, but it was certainly bigger. Bigger bed, in the middle of the room – though pushed against a different wall; colours everywhere he knew Adam liked – greens and blues, a dark grey bedspread; photo frames, hung slightly unevenly on walls – though only one still held Niall and Aurora, and this one was small and on the bedside table, so that Ronan could change his mind if he wanted, but the rest were photos of him and Adam, and them and Gansey, and Blue, and Noah, and Henry, and, well, everything – because this was what he was offering.

             “Ronan,” said Adam. He walked over to the bedside table, picked up the book Ronan knew he was currently reading, turned in the room, faced him. “You didn’t tell me you were gonna do this. Are you ok? Is this ok?” The light in the room cast a shadow on one side of Adam’s face, and Ronan moved forward to smooth it out.

             Now he was here he didn’t want to actually have to _say it_. He thought it was pretty obvious. He brushed his thumb over Adam’s cheek.

             “Ronan,” Adam said again. Ronan leaned in, kissed him.

             He had to say something. Didn’t want to say anything. “Happy anniversary,” he managed, but it came out like a croak.

             “Ronan,” Adam said, “Ronan this is… I get what this is but…”

             “But what?” Ronan had his eyes closed, and he gripped Adam’s waist, guiding him towards the bed. Kissed him for good measure.

             “But…” Adam said, faltering. Let himself be pushed onto the bed, let his book fall to the floor, let Ronan’s hands slide down his side. Kissed him like it was easy, but Ronan could feel him frowning under his hot breaths. Kissed his forehead. “ _Jesus_ , Ronan,” Adam said then, and pushed Ronan off. The bed was large enough to accommodate Ronan rolling away, so that’s what he did, leaving a few inches between them.

             “What’s your problem?” Ronan asked conversationally.

             “What’s my _problem_?” Adam buried his head in his hand. “It’s only been six months.”

             “Six months and two years,” Ronan corrected.

             “Yeah for _you_.”

             Ronan felt, rather than saw, everything drain of colour. Felt thoughts dissipate in his brain, crowding up against sharp edges. Hurt threatened through him, pushed up spite and sarcasm and _take it back take it all back_ – and then Adam leaned above him, into his space. Ronan tried to move away but Adam took his wrist, gently. “Sorry,” Adam said, face softened and voice quiet. “I didn’t mean that. Well, I suppose I did, but it’s irrelevant.” Ronan couldn’t meet his eye. “I’m in this as much as you are, you know I am.”

             “Ok,” Ronan said finally, and cleared his throat, and looked at Adam. He moved to sit up, and Adam let him. “So let’s talk about it. Why not?”

             Adam sighed, and sat up too, crossing his legs. “I mean firstly you haven’t _asked_ anything yet.”

             Ronan reached to the side of the bed and opened the bottom drawer of the bedside table. Took out a single ring, unboxed, flicked it at Adam’s cheek. Watched as Adam, trying hard not to smile, picked it up from where it landed on the bed.

             “Merry fucking christmas,” Ronan said.

             Adam looked at him, pained. “Don’t tell me you actually had this at christmas,” he said, inspecting the plain silver band, a gentle black rock in the middle.

             “Hey, you’re the one who didn’t want his christmas present.”

             “I didn’t want _this_. I mean… eurgh, this is all coming out wrong.” _No it’s not,_ thought Ronan. _Walk away. Walk away from me._

             Ronan forced the lump down his throat. _Say something, say anything._ “Obviously you don’t have to,” he said in a rush, and that made Adam look up at him. “If you don’t want to. Or, I guess, want to yet. Or something.”

             Adam grabbed his hand. “You’re an idiot,” he said. “It’s _yet_ , Ronan. If it’s no, it’s not _yet_.”

             Ronan paused, then grinned. “If,” he repeated.

             Adam flopped back onto the bed, groaning. “Ronan for fuck’s sake, we’re eighteen years old.”

             “The legal age of marriage, some might say.”

             “I’m still in _school_.”

             “How’s that emancipation working out?”

             “Will you just be quiet for _one second_.” Adam put one arm over his eyes.

             Ronan unfurled his body, tried to count steps as he imagined Adam’s thoughts like footsteps walking away from him. He clenched his eyes shut, rubbed a hand over his head. _No_ , he thought. _He always says he’ll come back_.

Ronan lay out on the bed, propped himself up on his elbows next to Adam, took Adam’s free fingers to his mouth, kissed each one. Kissed Adam’s palm. His wrist. His fingers. His palm. When he opened his eyes Adam was staring at him. “That’s not fair,” Adam said quietly. “You can’t expect me to be able to think rationally right now.”

             It took _everything_ for Ronan to say, “Don’t decide now then.”

             Adam said, “Thank you,” and, “I love you,” and Ronan kissed him, and Adam put the ring in his pocket.

 

Except it was a week later and Ronan thought he was being pretty fucking patient. The most romantic night of his _life_ and now it was a week later and why had he thought proposing to Adam Parrish when exams were round the corner was a good idea?

             Ronan stormed into Monmouth, hands in his pockets, lying on the ground next to where Blue, Gansey and Henry were playing a card game. He huffed, loudly.

             “How are things?” Gansey asked. “Well, I assume.”

            Ronan huffed again. “Where’s Parrish?” he asked, because he had to.

            He could feel Blue roll her eyes. “Nice to see you too, jackass. Your boyfriend’s at the library.”

            Ronan huffed.

 

That evening Ronan was in his old room, drowning his sorrows in two of his favourite activities – drinking beer and listening to electronica – when Gansey knocked on the door, and opened it without waiting.

             “What if I was jacking off man?”

             “Then we’d both be scarred for life, luckily you don’t live here anymore so it seems the chances of that are lowering drastically.” Gansey sat on the floor by the door, crossed his legs, and Ronan watched him warily. “How did it go? Last week?”

             Ronan shrugged. “It was fine. I did what you said. Added the Lynch _oomph_ to it.”

             “What, a special blend of emotional baggage and enormous expectations?”

             “Yeah. That and I asked him to marry me.”

             Gansey laughed. “You made that joke already.” Ronan didn’t reply, lifted his beer bottle and felt _bitterness_ trickle down his throat. Gansey cleared his throat. “You’re joking.” And then. “ _Lynch._ ”

             “What?”

             Gansey’s expression was priceless. Ronan laughed, but Gansey said, “That’s not funny. You didn’t.”

             “Oh calm down he didn’t say yes.”

             “Of course he didn’t!”

             “Rude.”

             Gansey rolled his eyes. “I mean of course he didn’t because as charming as you are Ronan you’re eighteen years old.”

             “He said that too.”

             “That’s because Adam is _smart._ This – this – this is reckless.”

             “Cool,” said Ronan, because he sort of thought it was. Gansey sighed.

 

It was weeks later before Adam brought it up again. Weeks where Ronan, saintlike, hadn’t said a word about it. Hadn’t been bitter, or resentful. And that hadn’t been hard really. Because none of it was a lie: he was in love with Adam, and that meant he understood. He knew that Adam would never really have just let himself say _yes_ straight away. Knew he’d need time to consider, to analyse. Knew he might never say yes. They’d never even discussed it, and Ronan wondered whether that was fair. But Adam knew him, understood him too, knew that if this had ever been going to happen this was the only way it could have. Ronan all sharp edges and barely thought out action he could do with his body, flinging rings across bedsheets and dancing around words.

             “Let’s go for a drive,” Adam said, so they did.

             Ronan drove up and down mountain roads, giving Adam time to think. He didn’t mind. Knew what was coming. He played music that matched his mood: racing drumbeats and thundering judgements.

             “Ronan, it’s not that I don’t want to,” Adam started.

             “Let’s just leave it,” Ronan said.

             “I don’t want to just leave it,” Adam said.

             “Well I do.”

             They were quiet for a while, but Ronan forced himself back. “Sorry,” he said tightly.

             Adam looked at him, taken aback. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “Really, don’t be. Look, can we pull over?” Ronan did, and Adam took one of his hands, forced Ronan to look at him. Smiled cautiously. “I love you, asshole. Please don’t be an idiot about this. It’s not _no,_ it’s just _not yet._ ” Ronan tried to look away but Adam just followed him, climbing into his lap, looking down at him. Ronan swallowed, unsure where to put his hands. Adam grasped them between his. “I know you’re thinking it’s because I don’t… look, for fuck’s sake why are you making this difficult? I love you _just_ as much as you love me. I _want_ this just as much as you do. But I don’t want to get married when I’m still in school, ok?”

             Ronan looked up at him, took in the rushed breath of words, repeated some in his head. “Ok,” he said, slow and unsure.

             Adam smiled. “You’re such an asshole, you’re actually going to make me say it. Of course I want to marry you, you tall ridiculous violent country boy, I just –” Ronan shut him up. Kissed him harder than he had in weeks, swallowing down _I want to marry you_ , licking across Adam’s lips and into his mouth, ran his hands up Adam’s back, felt Adam’s hands running over his head and down his neck.

             “You’re an idiot,” Adam said.

             “A tall idiot,” Ronan said.

             “Yeah,” said Adam.

             “Great insult by the way.”

             “Give me a fucking break you were looking at me like –”

             “Shh,” said Ronan. “Let’s focus on the part where you want to marry me like a fucking sap.”

             Adam sighed into Ronan’s mouth, but it felt more like _knowledge_ than admonishment, more like _awe_ than _settling_. It made Ronan smile, lips straining against his skin, against Adam’s mouth, made his arms wrap tighter around Adam, made him kiss him again and again as the sun strained out of the sky.

 

*

 

Adam had taken to wearing the ring sometimes, and whenever Ronan caught it he would raise an eyebrow, kiss him on the cheek, and Adam would roll his eyes, push him away.

             But then Blue saw it, black stone facing upwards, ring on his –

             “Adam Parrish!” she shouted. They all jumped. Everyone in Nino’s jumped. “Why are you wearing a ring on your ring finger?”

             Adam’s face drained of colour, and then he blushed, snatching his hand away from the table and hiding it in his lap. “I’m not,” he said, and Ronan put his face in his hands.

             “I can’t believe I’m going to marry such a terrible liar,” he said.

             “Then don’t,” Adam said.

             Blue’s mouth was open and Gansey was flicking his gaze between the two before finally landing on Ronan. “Lynch!” he said, frowning. “You told me he said no.”

             “You _knew_?” Blue accused him. “How could you not tell me?”

             “Brotherhood,” Ronan and Gansey said at once – Ronan to piss off Blue, Gansey because it was probably true. Adam rolled his eyes and Blue crossed her arms, annoyed once again to be left out of something so important because of something stupid like _gender_ or _history_ or _balls_ and she was halfway through saying so when Adam interrupted.

             “Look this is all very interesting,” he said, “but we’re not getting married.”

             Blue looked at him. “Then why are you wearing an engagement ring? Why did Ronan just say you are?”

             “Well, because we will, someday," Adam said, shrugging, like it was simple, and picked up a slice of pizza, offering the end to Ronan. Ronan grinned and bit the end off, melted cheese falling to the table.

             “Gross,” said Blue.

 

*

 

 Adam flew through his exams and was accepted into Yale University. They celebrated at the Barns, and Ronan made everyone come, and it was a warm day so he found the old barbecue in one of the barns, and made Adam eat four burgers, and kissed him against the side of the house, and laughed at Henry’s jokes, and grinned at Declan, and chased Opal through the kitchen, and kissed Adam whenever he could.

            “Such a smart ass,” Ronan murmured one of these times, when everyone was gathered outside, and Henry and Blue were discussing the intricacies of bonfire lighting, and Declan was shoving wood into their arms, and Gansey was lying on the ground watching the darkening sky, and Matthew was holding Opal by the waist and explaining that bonfires were safe, and happy, and Ronan was sat on the ground next to Adam, for once not caring who saw.

            Adam grinned. “You’re going to be unbearable aren’t you.”

            “Yep. I want Yale sweatpants.”

            Adam laughed and he kissed into that laugh again and again. Ronan ran his hand up Adam’s thigh and slipped it into his pocket, finding the ring he knew would be there. He found Adam’s finger with his eyes closed and slipped the ring on, slipping their fingers together.

            Adam shook his head, pulling away from Ronan with an exasperated sigh. “I have _just_ finished exams. You are an impatient child.”

            Ronan looked at him. “Well?”

            Adam didn’t answer. They turned and watched as the others wrestled with the fire, as Opal sank into Matthew’s arms and the flames sparked and sparked and then grew, twisting and snapping and reaching into the sky. And then Ronan turned and watched the fire in Adam’s hard eyes.

            Adam didn’t look at him. “This is the most reckless thing you’ve ever done,” he said.

            “What’s your point,” said Ronan.

            Adam turned to him then, voice low. “You know, I’ve done most of the talking on this topic. You haven’t actually ever said –”

            “I want to marry you,” Ronan said, voice barely a whisper, head turned to Adam with a single-mindedness like nothing else had ever kept his attention for this long, because it hadn’t, “because I love you with _everything_ I am. You are better than everything I’ve ever had – this is better than a hundred miles an hour, better than alcohol or cigsrettes or drugs, better than fucking Cabeswater, more addictive than I thought anything could be...”

            Adam’s face was impassive, unreadable. He said, “Ok but addictions aren’t necessarily good.”

            “Come on Parrish,” Ronan said, and he lifted Adam’s hands to his mouth, kissing them gently. “You also love me, which is nice. And you love the Barns. And Opal. And that’s pretty cool. Also I like the way it takes you ages to wake up properly, so I get to watch you first, before you can get all serious and boring.” Adam smiled and looked away. “And, whatever, you’re so good, and you make me happy and you’re so fucking smart… You…” Ronan wrestled with his thoughts, closed his eyes, shifted them around. He looked at Adam again. “I just feel settled.” Adam’s face was bright and hard, unsmiling under firelight. “I just feel done. And I know what I want. I don’t make pro con lists like a fucking nerd. I just know what I want, and I want you, this. I want this to be it. And I really want to lock in those Yale sweatpants.”

            Adam’s hand twitched under Ronan’s, so he stroked his knuckles, watched as Adam turned to look at the others, as fire danced in his eyes. “This is the most reckless thing you’ve ever dragged me into.”

            “Dragged? How fucking romantic.”

            Adam looked back at him, smirking. “Would you want it any other way?” Ronan stopped breathing, Adam’s words now hitting the back of his throat. “I mean this is pretty much us right. You suggest something dangerous and I resist and hesitate and analyse and you always win anyway, you always pull me into the most fun I ever have.”

            “Wait.” Ronan’s heart was a live thing straining against his chest. “Wait.”

            Adam grinned. “Oh this is fun. I can see why you’ve been enjoying this.”

            “Wait you’re saying _yes_.”

            “Sure,” Adam said, shrugging, lifting Ronan’s beer off the ground and holding it to his lips.

            Ronan blinked, watched Adam drink his beer. “You’re an idiot.”

            And then he stood up, hauling Adam to his feet, lifting him off the ground, and beer clattered to the ground, and Ronan buried his face in Adam’s shoulder, and Adam laughed, shaking his head, yelling to be put down, and the others had stopped talking, and Ronan put Adam down, and kissed him in front of everyone.

            “What’s happening?” asked Gansey, though Ronan guessed he knew.

            “Fuck off,” said Ronan, kissing Adam again.

            “We will if you stop with the public display,” suggested Henry.

            Adam fingered at the blue band on Ronan’s arm, grinning. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he said with a pointed look at Declan, who looked slightly alarmed, “but we’re getting married.”

            There was silence, and then uproar. Blue and Gansey had already exhausted themselves trying to talk reason into Ronan and Adam – _we’re so young, and isn’t there all the time in the world, and don’t they say love waits –_ so they just grinned and Gansey bumped fists with Ronan and Blue gave Adam an enormous hug; Henry was a romantic and grinned, wiping a tear from his eye – _young love, how quaint._ Opal, who understood archetypes, danced around Adam waving her hands in the air and singing. Chainsaw flew circles around their heads.

            Matthew stood up and gave Adam such a tight hug Ronan worried Adam would pop. He heard Matthew say quietly in his ear, “You’re a good friend, thank you for marrying him,” and Adam laughed, and patted Matthew’s hair.

            Ronan finally looked at Declan, who hadn’t moved from his chair by the fire. Declan looked back. He stood up and walked over, hands in his pockets. “Well,” he said. “Obviously I don’t approve. You’re, what, eighteen?” Ronan rolled his eyes. “But I’m not your dad. You can do whatever you like. And maybe,” he said quieter, looking at where Adam was surrounded by their friends, “maybe this is actually one of the _less_ reckless things you’ve ever done.” He held a hand out to Ronan, and Ronan blinked at it before holding out his own, and they shook hands, and then Declan pulled him in and clasped him once, briefly, on the back, before letting go.

           

*

 

Ronan had wanted to do it straight away, hated the idea of anything that took longer than it might take for Adam to change his mind, to see sense. But after their fifth argument about it, after Adam realised what Ronan was doing, they’d spent an evening on the roof of one of the barns, and talked about it properly.

            “We’re not in a rush.”

            “You’re leaving soon.”

            “Sure, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m coming _back_. Sooner or later you’re gonna have to start believing that.”

            “Ok.”

            They talked about everything. And they didn’t argue. They both wanted to live at the Barns, in this magical place they’d carved out for each other. They were both worried about the distance, about how long Adam would be gone for, whether he’d even want to come back four, five, six years down the road when he’d need to get a decent job.

            “That’s _years_ away Parrish,” said Ronan, groaning. “How are we supposed to fix that now?” At an unimpressed look from Adam he sighed. “Look, of course I want to stay here but I want you too and if you want a black suit and tie we’ll move to some shitty fucking city and we’ll come back for I dunno long weekends or whatever.”

            Adam smiled. “No one _wants_ to wear suits, Ronan.”

            “Coulda fooled me.”

 

In the end they decided on Christmas. After Adam’s first semester. It was the earliest Declan could get St Agnes anyway. Ronan insisted he didn’t care, that he’d marry Adam in City Hall. But Adam knew Ronan was really just worried they wouldn’t find any catholic church willing to marry two men, didn’t want to deal with it, or pretend he cared, or bare his soul like that. Adam probably saw the dark shadows under Ronan’s eyes whenever he refused to talk about it, and then the untensing of muscles when Declan said it was all sorted, that St Agnes was happy to hold their ceremony. Adam took Ronan’s hand in his, and kissed it all away.

            So when Ronan said goodbye to Adam in August, something about the whole thing felt less untenable than he’d expected.

            They’d barely slept the night before. Adam had lists and lists and lists, spent hours packing while Ronan followed him round the house sighing dramatically; and later, slipping against each other under the covers, Ronan memorising Adam’s body; and later slipping downstairs to watch a movie; and 3am pancakes in the kitchen; and then covers, Adam’s body. They slept for an hour, and when they woke up Ronan had cried, wracking breaths against Adam’s body. Adam didn’t say anything, just held Ronan through it, agreed with him when Ronan finally had enough breath to call Adam an asshole. Had kissed him one last time, hands memorising Adam’s body. Adam.

            Now, he looked past Adam to the field behind the drive. He heard Adam say something distantly, snapped his attention back. “What?” Adam crossed his arms. He was wearing an old hoody of Ronan’s, black with thumb holes in the sleeves. It was very un-Adam, and the thought of him arriving at an Ivy League wearing it was almost enough to make Ronan smile.

            “I _said_ where’s my playlist?” Adam was leaning against the Shitbox, an attempt at humour dancing on his tired face.

            Ronan blinked then ducked his head, slipping his hand into his back pocket and holding out a tape.

            Adam took it and read the label. His grin slipped from his face. “ _Songs to come home to._ ” He smiled shakily at Ronan. Breathed out. Punched him on the arm. “Asshole,” he said. “I am _this_ close to making it out of here not a total wreck.”

            Ronan rubbed at his arm. “That’ll make one of us.”

            They held each other. Adam whispered, “Christmas, Ronan.”

            Ronan nodded. “Yeah.”

            “And I’ll see you before then. You’re coming up in a few weeks.”

            Ronan nodded.

            Adam pulled away, lips squirming against each other. He held Ronan’s left wrist with his left hand, touching the blue band under delicate fingers, ring glinting in the sunlight. He kissed him. Ronan brought up a hand and rested it on the back of Adam’s neck, fingers dancing at the ends of his hair. _I get to have this_ , thought Ronan. He was less afraid than he thought he would be. So when Adam pulled away he smirked at him, and Adam smiled back, eyes bright and shining against the home the Lynches had built, against this magical thing Ronan and Adam had carved out for each other.

            “I love you,” said Adam.

            Ronan considered this, then grinned. “Sappy.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading - hedy xxx


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